Bolt and bar the shutter, For the foul winds blow: Our minds are at their best this night, And I seem to know That everything outside us is Mad as the mist and snow.
Horace there by Homer stands, Plato stands below, And here is Tully's open page. How many years ago Were you and I unlettered lads Mad as the mist and snow?
You ask what makes me sigh, old friend, What makes me shudder so? I shudder and I sigh to think That even Cicero And many-minded Homer were Mad as the mist and snow.